


A Pillow For My Pet

by Narvaeril (AnnEllspethRaven), Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amon Sul, M/M, Palantír(i)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/Narvaeril, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: The year is S.A. 3325, the place is the Weather Hills of Eriador. Elves and men labor together to build the great watchtower atop Amon Sûl, but in one particular tent lies an eiderdown pillow. Gil-galad has it. Glorfindel wants it. The rest is history.
Relationships: Ereinion Gil-galad/Glorfindel
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8
Collections: 2020 My Slashy Valentine





	A Pillow For My Pet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phyncke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyncke/gifts).



“Come on, Toffee.” Glorfindel encouraged, realizing that he had actually been _looking_ at Toffee while speaking. _No no no, bad_ . This time he walked straight ahead, eyes on their path. “Come on, Toffee! Sweetheart Toffee, I have a lovely treat for you!” He did not pull hard on the lead rope, but pull he did. Nothing. _Crud_. He ran his fingers through his almost unplaited hair, summoning patience. “Toffee, sweetums, we are going to walk up the hill now and the sooner this is over with the better for both of us.”

A horrible sensation of liquid coated the back of his neck, side of his face and hair, slimy and stinky. With mounting revulsion he wiped some of the spittle from his skin, examining it. “Well that is such a _nice_ shade of green, Toffee _sweetie_. That was not very nice, and you do not outrank me. I outrank you.”

Just then, Erestor passed them bearing a small load of irregular stones. They were poKing out of the top of the sack that was over his shoulder. “Oh hello there, Toffee sweetums. Climb with me? I would love some company on the walk to the top of the hill.”

Red-faced and humiliated, Glorfindel tried to catch up as Toffee lurched past him, sniffing hopefully at Erestor’s tunic and almost dragging Glorfindel by the lead rope. 

“I hope you are happy, _Counselor,_ ” Glorfindel grumbled. “Just because you are specially favored by the cook-staff and can get the apple cores and carrot-tops with which to subvert _my llama_!”

“That is your first mistake,” Erestor said in a very serious tone. “Llamas belong to no one but themselves. Once you accept that, dealing with them is much easier.”

With an air of victory, Toffee wiggled her lower jaw back and forth, her lower incisors jutting out rakishly. Glorfindel would swear she was grinning. Who knows, maybe she was. “Fine,” he sighed. “Not my llama. I can learn.”

“Since you have a hand free, if you happen to see any good kindling along the way, can I trouble you to pick it up? I told Ereinion I would bring some if I could, but they already had this loaded for me when I reached the base.” Erestor teasingly added, “In exchange for that enlightening knowledge about llamas I recently provided to you.”

“Alright,” Glorfindel answered a little too eagerly. For ‘Ereinion’ had been the magic word in that sentence; for his love the blond would do most anything Eru would smile upon (and possibly a few things that He would not).

“Would you be so kind as to drop off whatever you collect in his tent?” asked Erestor. “I would appreciate it; I meant to stop for a tea break four loads ago, and I just know if I drop by his tent, he will find another task for me.”

“I shall,” Glorfindel agreed. After all, unless other demands were made, that same kindling would warm him as well this night; though they were discreet about their relationship Glorfindel shared the King’s bed more often than not. The King’s wonderful bed, in that lovely warm tent, with that peerless feather pillow upon which his golden head might rest, cozily snuggled and warm. Heaven. Deeply sighing in the bliss of his daydream, he stumbled (much to Erestor’s amusement) and stubbed his toe. Toffee turned to regard Erestor longingly, wondering greatly if she might work with a different elf tomorrow.

“Come along, Toffee, sweetling, let us find something nice for all the hard work you do,” coaxed Erestor as he doubled his pace. To Glorfindel, he advised, “I would not keep His Majesty waiting long. He made mention of wanting the wood to heat water for a bath.”

“Oh, I…” a flush crept up Glorfindel’s cheeks at the mere idea. For Ereinion liked bubble baths that smelled of sweet lavender and clary sage and…”Of course. I would never keep the High King waiting. Thank you for telling me.” _Except, I absolutely_ would _keep His Majesty,_ Glorfindel grinned _. I would keep him for love and sweet kisses and not want to let him leave his tent, selfish elf that I am. Shame on me for being so naughty!_ He smiled winningly at Toffee (who remained unconvinced, for her ears momentarily flattened).

There was wood aplenty on the ascent, and Glorfindel gathered enough for two days just to be on the safe side. While Toffee followed Erestor with the promise of snacks for ‘the very best llama this side of the hilltop’, Glorfindel made straightaway for the King’s tent. He need not announce his purpose to the guard outside; the soldier gave a nod and ducked inside to let it be known that Glorfindel wished an audience. Before the ellon could return outside again to give Glorfindel the news, Ereinion called out, “You may enter.”

Glorfindel gracefully approached the High King and went down on one knee, the faggot of wood yet grasped in his arms. “Majesty,” he said in his best voice. “Your humblest servant has brought you fuel at the behest of Erestor. To kindle your fire and bring warmth to your person. Heat, for your bathwater and to ward away the chill of evening.” Somehow, he kept his features neutral.

Most any time Ereinion had the opportunity to spend even a moment alone with Glorfindel, his focus would be upon him entirely. Now, he did not so much as look up from his lap. Upon further inspection, Glorfindel furrowed his brow to see his pillow – or, rather, the pillow he did not actually own but toward which he had strongly proprietary feelings – on Ereinion’s lap. He thought momentarily to cheekily lean his head against it and look up to the beautiful face of his King and lover and bat his lashes prettily – and then, black glossy eyes peering out of a small fluffy head (complete with pinkish nose) returned his gaze. Glorfindel’s own gem-blue eyes widened as Ereinion scritched the top of the creature’s head with one finger and said, “Please, do start the fire. His fur is dry now, but he is still thoroughly chilled.”

“Of course, my King,” Glorfindel swallowed, hastening to obey while his mind worked furiously to understand the nature of this...this...furry feather pillow usurper. Then again, he had already learned one lesson today about underestimating the creatures Vána and Yavanna had placed upon Arda. “Lord, would you tell me about him?”

“He was found in the quarry this morning,” explained Ereinion as he petted the creature until it curled up and burrowed into the pillow again. “A shift in the rocks caused him to be trapped by the tail, half submerged in water. Lindir felt pity for the creature and dug him out and brought him here.”

Lindir. So that was who was to blame. Glorfindel kept his back to Ereinion as he listened. Every now and then he nodded, and hoped that this arrangement was not permanent, and that the fluffy polecat would be on its way just as soon as Ereinion deemed it well and dry. There was only one thing that would delay that promise, and so long as Ereinion had not named it--

“I am calling him Cashew.”

Great. It had a name. 

Glorfindel sighed. _I am so screwed._ “Cashew is a...a wonderful name, your Majesty.” Glorfindel added more wood to the fire as he mouthed the words ‘for a no-good fuzzy rat-faced pillow-thieving thief’ to himself, back still to the King so that this churlish sentiment went unseen.

“Corporal Cashew,” added Ereinion. “He spied that rat we kept seeing dart around in here, and in less than a minute he was eating it whole,” Ereinion said proudly.

“Magnificent!” Glorfindel exclaimed, doing his level best to force his face into a mask of delight while his breath coaxed the tiny sparks from his flint into a small flame. “A little miracle of nature! Does he require more food? I could try to hunt.” Bowing his head for a moment caused the firelight to shimmer in the spun gold hair he tucked behind his ears. 

Ereinion pondered the softness of that hair, the scent of it that was intoxicatingly Glorfindel, and imagined the two of them later that evening, cuddling under the covers with...Cashew crawling around between them. Little sharp claws scratching places mentionable and unmentionable. He frowned. Perhaps he needed to re-think his evening plans. Plus, he wanted his pillow. Hm. Well, there were more pressing concerns and a solution would be found. “So, my golden beauty, have you brought me more than kindling? For my _fire_?” the King teased good-naturedly. 

“I am, as ever, at your disposal, my King. What more do you require? I am but your most devoted servant.” Glorfindel came back around and knelt before the King again. His King...his pillow...upon noticing a few loose threads on the embroidery of the silk his fair visage curdled and had to be swiftly restored. His eye twitched involuntarily as he watched the ferret kick one leg repeatedly at a tasseled corner, causing some unraveling to occur. “Mayhaps I might begin by finding a more suitable bed for Cashew.”

“Corporal Cashew,” Ereinion reminded him.

Glorfindel sucked in breath and smiled. “Corporal Cashew,” he repeated dutifully. He kept his eyes off the beast, else he might have glared. “I imagine I might be able to find something more comfortable for him. Perhaps a wooden crate filled with moss and straw?” he asked, attempting not to sound too hopeful.

“Oh no. He has had far too rough of a day for such plebian accoutrements as that. No, he shall rest his weary little paws upon the down pillow. For now. Afterward I may have a silk under-tunic that has seen too much wear. Now silk over moss, yes, that is indeed a possibility for Corporal Cashew. Does that mean you know where moss is to be found?” Ereinion asked, stifling how badly the corners of his lips wished to turn up in a smile.

Of course he did. It was at the bottom of the winding, twisting, forsaken path that had brought him all the way up here, with dreams of his head resting on that blessed pillow and his arms around the King fast dissipating. Eyelids heavy and feet weary, Glorfindel meekly answered, “I beg a thousand pardons, your Majesty. Perish the thought that such a noble creature be made to sleep upon straw.” Right now, Toffee seemed like a pretty fantastic animal. At least, she had never tried to steal his pillow. Chewed on his hair, yes. Sneezed in his face, undoubtedly. Spat upon his person, without question. But never the pillow. Glorfindel gave it one more fleeting look before standing. “Does his Majesty wish me to extract some of the finest moss in Middle-earth for his new companion?” Glorfindel attempted not to let his voice convey any emotion, but he had a feeling the last word still held at a passive-aggressive undertone.

“No, Glorfindel. Tomorrow, when you must descend anyway. You are weary.” He clapped his hands, and the guard outside raised the tent flap.

“Majesty?”

“Please send to have hot wine brought for us, and a meal. Then stand down; you too shall rest.”

“Of course, Majesty.”

Rising, Ereinion gently placed the pillow with the ferret on his chair and then paced slowly around Glorfindel, considering his next words free of the obligation to conceal his widening smirk. “I have decided what I do wish for you. You are to go into the sleeping area and remove your work clothing. Then you will dampen and scent a cloth with the water atop the candle warmer – use the sandalwood oil, please. I shall enjoy the sight of your ablutions, then you will don one of my dressing-gowns and sit by the fire with me.” He leaned down to purr near the delicate ear. “Are those commands more to your liking, my love?”

Glorfindel closed his eyes. So long as he could not see the usurper on his pillow, everything felt right in his world again. “Yes, your Majesty,” he said.

“Rise then, and get to it,” the King smiled, tickling the fur of Corporal Cashew once more. He leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, “I think he is jealous of you, my little soldier!” when Glorfindel departed the immediate vicinity.

Corporal Cashew’s whiskers twitched obligingly, and with one tiny paw he wiped his nose prior to rolling onto his back and stretching luxuriously.

“Play coy, you say? Ah! ‘Tis an excellent strategem.”

The ferret snuggled deeper into the feather pillow, beady eyes fixed on a now unclad Glorfindel (who like the rest of these poor elves lacked any meaningful fur save atop his head).

Glorfindel’s skin clearly showed the marks of dust, perspiration, and streaks from his labor of moving the heavy building stone. Holding a wrung-out cloth in full view, he began to rub at the filth (and spit), dismayed to see how dirty he had actually become. This felt...disastrous. He had come thus into the presence of the King, and the ferret was unquestionably the cleaner of the two of them.

“You shall have to wash your hair as well,” directed Ereinion, only now seeing the residue of the vile green spittle. “I think you have enough time to go to the spring and see to that task before food arrives,” assessed Ereinion.

“Of course, your Majesty.” Glorfindel inwardly cursed that he would need to make yet another trek down to the valley and back up again. Aching arms and back, hungry and tired, and... _since when is the great Glorfindel such a whiner?_ he admonished himself. Coiling his hair away from the fresh clothing, he gathered the necessary implements to clean and condition his hair, bowing to Ereinion before he left.

Food was there to greet him when Glorfindel returned as was the ferret, sitting on Ereinion’s lap – the lap Glorfindel had hoped to perch upon – being fed small pieces of roast game bird. “I hope you do not mind – he is ever so famished from his ordeal. I thought he should start eating.”

“No, Majesty,” Glorfindel lied for what else was he to do? He ought to possess more unselfishness than this but...just now he did not. Staring down at his feet, he ransacked his mind for a means to dissemble. “May I serve your Majesty in any manner?” tumbled out of his mouth, though what he really meant was far more along the lines of _is there anything I might do for you before I devour my meal like fell-wolves upon a carcass?_ Yet how could he speak such crass words to his Lord? No, he must...manage.

“How very thoughtful of you to ask, especially after such grueling work today,” Ereinion said, deliberating far longer than Glorfindel wanted. “The pillow,” he finally said. “Might you be so kind as to fluff it for our little friend? I should think he would like to take rest with us after we eat, and I wish his slumber to be as enjoyable as possible.”

The sentimental cruelties of monarchy settled over Glorfindel, who laid himself down on a catafalque of indulgent self-pity. It was quite possibly the longest he had ever hesitated to obey a command, but he still responded in time. Barely. “Yes, Lord.” His still-damp hair fell forward, obscuring his deeply unhappy face. _Really, Glorfindel. This is not like you. Get a grip on yourself, man! It is an overgrown long-haired mink and you are making entirely too much of this._ But oh, the sight of the white furball on his pillow... it _tasked_ him. Nevertheless he lifted the little body carefully, terribly startled when it sprang to life and darted to burrow into the warmth of his neck, under his hair. Saying nothing, he fluffed the pillow but now did not know what to do, since Corporal Cashew seemed to have no inclination to depart his current position as neck-warmer...which truthfully, felt somewhat nice on his tired muscles (not that he would admit that aloud) and meant that the little supplanter was elsewhere than his beloved pillow.

Ereinion clapped his hands twice then hid his grin behind a glass of wine. “Adorable! I am thrilled that the two of you have become friends; he really seems to have taken to the tent. I cannot imagine releasing him into the wild again, unless it is his wont. Please, Glorfindel – sit, rest, dine with me.”

So relieved was the warrior to hear this that he knelt and gently claimed Ereinion’s hand, gently spreading the fingers so that he might kiss the open palm and press it briefly against his cheek. This was the first thing he had heard since today’s arrival that indicated the King’s favor. “Majesty,” he breathed in an exhalation of love. Then he sat, almost forgetting the pale presence dozing upon his shoulders.

Throughout the uneventful meal the ferret melded against Glorfindel and hardly moved. Only when Ereinion suggested they retire for the night did the creature suddenly awaken, scramble to the ground and then pounce upon the pillow. Glorfindel stood, stupefied.

“Oh, look at him! Well, we must not tarry watching him – he will be there in the morning, as will all the work yet to be completed on the tower. Accompany me to bed? Perhaps you should bring Colonel Cashew and his pillow, so that he does not awaken in the night and think he was abandoned,” suggested Ereinion.

“Yes Majesty,” Glorfindel forced out, glaring at the audacious creature when the King’s back was turned. “In fact, I have an idea. The silken cloth you had for him to lie upon, may I have it please?”

Curious about what his lover was so poorly scheming, the King procured the item.. 

With a great showing, Glorfindel lifted Corporal Cashew carefully and fussily to surround the pillow with silk and return the little animal to his place. “There,” he announced, pleased. “His own little bed; nothing but the best.” Sidling over, he shyly held out his hand to Ereinion, hoping it would be taken and that he would be brought into the King’s arms. He was not disappointed. In deep contentment the blond sighed to nuzzle against the broad chest. The King was powerfully built; magnificent in form and athleticism. They were closely matched as to prowess; when Glorfindel claimed victory in any kind of physical competition or contest at arms against his lover he had to earn it with every reserve of his skill and effort.

“To bed with us, then, perchance to dream of days when we might sleep in one of the magnificent rooms of the tower, overlooking all the land below.”

Glorfindel smiled and was about to agree, but Ereinion continued.

“Where we will curl up content in our bed, and Corporal Cashew on his lovely pillow in a bed of his own.”

Glorfindel thanked all the Valar that his King and lover could not see his expression. “Oh, of course, your Majesty,” he forced out.

The next morning brought with it wind, and a little rain. Ereinion awoke to find he was completely alone in the room. There was no Glorfindel, no Corporal Cashew, and oddly enough no pillow. Concerning trivial things, however, Kings must occupy themselves only when they have time and the worried call from a guard told him he did not have that luxury. There was erosion, not much, and not at the tower – just where there was a small wall of stone fencing in a well. Repairs were necessary; better now than later – and much later, he would worry about the absent guests from his tent.

After dressing, he saw with relief that the pillow was indeed in its former location, and just as he was ready to depart the tent an excitable chittering drew his attention. For starters, Corporal Cashew held most of a gnawed rat (an entirely new and different rat, because this one’s fur was not the same color) but then he swiftly raced to his pillow and chittered, pulling back the silk tunic to reveal an inferior cushion to the one the King had assigned. The graceful ferret arced and dived, its elegant body veritably dancing its displeasure upon the lumpy and unattractive surface. Then like any sensible predator he returned to his meal and crunched a little forearm between his sharp teeth. The message was quite clear: ‘ _And just what do you intend to do about this indignity visited upon my person by your beloved pillow thief?’_

“Oh my,” Ereinion said aloud, laughing. “I have no time for this, my little soldier...unless, of course, you know how to find the real pillow? Because that would be great fun, would it not? To steal from the burglar whose name we both know? I promote you to Sergeant Cashew as well, in honor of this your second victory.”

Meanwhile, in a communal tent Glorfindel shared with a handful of others, the blond pilferer paced around, surveying the space and what options it afforded. At the time, his subterfuge seemed like a great idea – but now, he was left with two dilemmas. What did he do if the King discovered his deception? And where could he hide the pillow now? For if he was suspected, the first thing Ereinion would do would be to order the tent searched to prove his suspicions. 

It was still early enough that some people were sleeping, and one of those people was Gildor. Taken to slacking off in the morning, Gildor was one of the architects of the project. He was snoring lightly with an arm over his eyes. Certainly, if Ereinion only glanced around, there was a possibility he would not see something tucked under or behind the bed that Gildor was sleeping on. With breath held, Glorfindel tiptoed over, and successfully placed the pillow under the bed, within reach, and out of sight.

Glorfindel looked right, looked left and quickly departed, certain his presence there had been unremarked. Not two minutes later, a tired-looking figure clutching a cloak of poor cloth against the morning mist followed a rapidly moving white animal. In the tent, out of the tent, and the owner of the cloak (to a discerning onlooker) might have been covering a somewhat larger bulk than when it first entered. Back in Erenion’s tent the cloak dropped amidst chuckles and laughter and the pillow was properly restored for the edification of Sergeant Cashew. “Well, my little friend! This is better than Glorfindel himself, and that is saying a great deal. ‘Twas worth my time, for this shall lighten my heart through the day’s labor. Rest well, Sergeant! Dismissed!” His face radiant with good humor, the King attended to his duties.

Several hours later, Glorfindel was searching the communal tent for a fourth time while Gildor swore up and down he knew nothing of a pillow or a ferret. “You should come and sit down and eat,” suggested Gildor. “You are putting twice the energy into this than you did earlier today when we were breaking stones.”

“I am not hungry,” Glorfindel said with determination from beneath one of the beds. “Erestor, are you sure you did not see it anywhere?” Glorfindel’s voice was terse and impatient; he was sure one or more of the others was playing a game with him.

“For the last time, Glorfindel, no, I have not seen a soft, pretty pillow. As it stands, I cannot recall the last time I saw a pillow of any type outside of – ” Erestor paused and pointed his soup spoon in the direction of the blond rump that was visible at the floor near the bed. “Did you steal something from our King?”

“What? That is ridiculous!” Glorfindel hit his head as he emerged from beneath the bed and cursed. “How can someone steal something that belongs to them?”

“You stole your own pillow?” asked Lindir.

“No! No one said anything about stealing!” admonished Glorfindel, who was covered not only with the dirt of the day, but with dust and fuzz from under the beds as well. “Nothing was stolen, except from me!”

Erestor narrowed his eyes, but returned to his soup.

“So this is your pillow,” stated Gildor, and then he waited for confirmation.

Glorfindel decided to explore a wooden chest for the sixth time so that he did not need to make eye contact. “The crucial part in all this is whether or not you have seen a blue and white pillow with tassels on it.”

“You mean like the kind that Ereinion has in his tent?” Erestor’s voice sounded far too innocent. He even smiled blamelessly when Glorfindel glanced over. “You know, if you could describe it better, we might be able to assist you in finding it. We could talk to the rest of the camp--maybe even ask the King if--”

“No! I mean, no thank you,” Glorfindel said, lowering his voice immediately.

Erestor lifted a brow, but once more returned to his soup.

It was then that Elrond entered the tent. He scanned the area, saw Glorfindel, and pointed at him. “The King wishes to see you in his chambers at your earliest convenience. He said if you have not yet eaten, he would dine with you as well.”

Glorfindel swallowed hard, but gave a courtly nod. “I shall make haste,” he declared as his stomach knotted. He brushed the dust off of his shoulders and set out.

“Probably found the pillow,” guessed Erestor flippantly. 

“So it is Ereinion’s pillow?” asked Lindir.

Gildor patted Lindir on the back as Elrond gave the trio a confused look. “Eat your soup,” advised Gildor to the minstrel.

Glorfindel dashed from the tent before his cheeks could color further. _You idiot, Glorfindel! Why did you say anything to all of them? Why did you do it in the first place? You know better than this; how could you be stupid enough to risk your reputation over a pillow?_ He had no exact answers for himself, as he beheld the setting sun over the regions to the west. Bree-land and wide lands beyond stretched in the far distance between this hill and Mithlond from whence he journeyed on his arrival to these shores. He recalled the years spent in fair Lindon where he gained noble Ereinion’s love, before the necessities of war drove them toward Imladris and their present labors. He sighed for knew his answers, only he did not want to admit them to himself. Indeed, he could be more clever. It was only that he had not chosen a good enough hiding place; that was it. Well, he had a solution.

On arrival the guard waved him inside, raising the flap to permit his entry. “Elrond said you asked me to a meal, Your Majesty?” Glorfindel walked gladly to Ereinion and knelt, relieved not to see the ferret or the pillow. Turning his head, he laid it gently against the King’s knee, hoping to feel the familiar caress of his hair when a paroxysm of coughing seized him. Off to the side there sat the interloper, hind legs splayed, grooming himself in the center of the pillow. _How?_

Instead the large hand thumped on his back. “Are you unwell, Glorfindel?” 

“No, Sire. I am fine. I breathed too much dust today. I am certain it will pass,” Glorfindel noted, declining to mention that ninety-five percent of said dust was under beds and other places he had no business sticking his nose.

“I see,” the King said, frowning. In truth he was disappointed with Glorfindel, but given where the pillow had been found he needed to be completely assured of his lover’s guilt. Time would reveal all; it always did. “Well, Sergeant Cashew has waited for you to fluff his pillow. Then perhaps you need time to bathe? If you breathed so much dust surely you need to wash your hair again?”

“No, sire, I...it…”

“Yes, love?” Glorfindel felt fingers raise his chin, forcing him to meet Ereinion’s eyes. The grey orbs could be soft as clouds or steely-hard, depending on the King’s mood. Right now, they were somewhere in between.

“I kept my hair covered against the dust.”

“Oh? I saw you more than once from a distance today. You are so easy to find, with your golden hair. I never observed that.” Though lighthearted, there was warning in the tone.

 _He knows, you fool._ Glorfindel swallowed hard. “I am tired, Sire, and do not want to walk so far. I did not want to yestereve, but believed you would think less of me for making such a complaint. You are King and it is not for me to dispute your orders.”

Ereinion held his face firmly, not releasing him, while he studied Glorfindel in silence – allowing his lover’s discomfort to grow. 

Glorfindel surprised himself when he did not quail or flinch. Maybe it was because he so wanted the attention, and this was at least that. When the large hand finally smoothed his hair, his own blue eyes involuntarily closed at the touch. “There may be times I require your obedience. Whether or not you wash your hair is not among them – I believed you would know that by now. Telling me the truth is not on the list of behaviors that will gain my censure,” he said, allowing the unspoken half of the statement to sink in. “Now. What is it you want most? Right now?”

“This,” the blond answered, leaning forward from where he knelt in front of the seated King. His arms reached to embrace and be embraced in turn. Fortunately that was all Glorfindel was asked, because then he need not mention the pillow that in his eyes evidenced Ereinion’s favor. “I love you.”

“And I you.” Ereinion rose, pulling Glorfindel up with him to make a proper job of this. They shared a long, tender hug that left the blond nearly glowing with happiness. 

So much so that when they broke apart, Glorfindel willingly fluffed the pillow for the ferret. “Corporal Cashew was promoted?”

“Oh, yes. You should see the size of the rat he had this morning. You would have, but it seems you had to leave before I woke?”

“I did,” Glorfindel evaded. “Nature called, and I thought I might get an early start at work. I did not wish to disturb your rest.”

“Very well,” the King smiled. “Please tell the guard I wish to dine now.”

Today’s meal was much more pleasant than the evening prior, though the winds picked up considerably as they ate. When the pelting of heavy rain became audible against the tent, the guard entered for further direction. “You are relieved,” said Ereinion. “If Glorfindel and I cannot subdue anyone who might attempt to steal the Palantír, we are not worthy to keep it.” The guard nodded, and not very long after the tent strained a little against its tethers as the winds became more insistent. “It is best if you stay here through the storm. I hope you had no plans for the afternoon – there is not much to be done in the rain.”

“This time with you has already been the best part of my day,” Glorfindel said truthfully. His insecurities had their roots in his romantic side. Right now he felt very overtaken by ardor, with a full stomach and bad weather outdoors. “How may I please you?” He stepped behind the King, daring to lightly massage his broad shoulders. His greatest privilege was to provide back or foot rubs, or to massage light oil into the smooth skin against the dry air. Sometimes he enjoyed brushing Gil-galad’s long hair until it held a burnished glow in the low light, or manicuring his fine hands. Really, anything that allowed him to be near and demonstrate affection.

Eyes closed, Ereinion enjoyed the attention. “We have a long night ahead of us and a fresh bottle of wine in my sleeping chamber. I believe you know where to find the oil,” he added as he took hold of Glorfindel’s hand and placed a kiss upon his knuckles before he retired to the next room.

Glorfindel gave the ferret on the pillow – still his pillow, Glorfindel thought--a pleased look, as if to say, _you might have the pillow, but I have the King._

__

Sergeant Cashew waited until the yellow elf went to find the auburn elf, and then floofed up his tail and curled up to wait out the storm. Storms were bad for hunting; after storms were good for finding delicious little snakes and lizards to munch on. He dreamed of finding not one but two of those little red and blue lizards with the tasty tails as he fell asleep. 

The very next morning, the skies were clear and the winds had died down. Sergeant Cashew stretched and yawned and dug his little feet into – _oh no. No, no, no._ He looked down. It was the silk cover, yes, but once again he readily perceived the inferior quality of the cushion he was forced to sleep upon. As expected, when he reached the room where the auburn elf was, the yellow elf was missing. Again. 

Sergeant Cashew twitched his nose and wiggled his whiskers. The auburn elf was still asleep, and Sergeant Cashew had plans to go hunting anyhow – he would just go hunting for lizards and a pillow now. He angrily cleaned his tail while seated on the subpar cushion and then darted out of the tent in search of his precious.

It was not (unsurprisingly) in its previous location, which made it no more challenging to find. _Silly yellow elf, did he not understand that feather pillows smelled like birdses and that birdses could be smelled anywhere just like lizards or rats? The yellow elf was nice enough but seemed to be a little stupid? Maybe it had been dropped when it was just a little kit and hurt its head._ That had happened to his own brother, the poor dear. Mother had said that Junior was _touched_. Oh well. The pillow was inside of the tent where a nice elf snoozed still, making a lovely humming sound in his sleep. There was a box, of sorts, and the pillow was inside the box. Nice and dry. With a little tugging and pulling he soon had his pillow out, and settled himself. But there was a commotion outside.

“Lindir! Lindir, wake! The King asks for his minstrel; he desires music while he breaks his fast!”

Bleary-eyed, the elf sat up, rubbing at his face, and hurriedly donned a clean tunic. His small harp stood right next to where he slept; he had all but fallen asleep last night writing a new song. “Of course! Of course, I – Oh! Hello little fellow! You are on the King’s pillow, how are both you and it here? Ai! No matter. You! Guard! Please bear His Majesty’s cushion, for His Majesty’s little companion rests upon it.”

“Oh, aye, he is that. That is Sergeant Cashew, have you not heard? Caught two huge rats and is the apple of the King’s eye! Poor little man was almost hurt by the stones, too. But a good wash up and some food and now look at him! A royal ferret if ever there was such a thing,” the guard smiled, affectionately rubbing just right under the little chin.

“I was the one who rescued him, but I was not told his name and rank!” Lindir smiled. “Simply marvelous!” A new Ode already was slotting into place in his mind. “Let us to the King then!”

Glorfindel had expected to have time at lunch to check on the safety of the pillow, but he and Erestor ended up knee-deep in mud with an angry llama at noon and Glorfindel knew enough not to show up for dinner caked in dirt with unwashed hair tonight. This meant it was dusk by the time he wearily entered the communal tent. He tried to display nonchalance as Erestor recounted something or other that he had seen Toffee do that morning, but as soon as Erestor had his back to him Glorfindel was on the floor, scrambling to reach the harp case under Lindir’s bed. He did not need to look too far; he saw the lid of the case off to the side and groaned as he stood back up (hitting his head on the bed frame, just as he had the day before). As he rubbed the back of his skull, Erestor stared at him judgmentally, hands on his hips. “Just what are you up to?”

“Nothing,” replied Glorfindel much too quickly.

Erestor leaned in. “Bull,” he whispered. “You have always acted odd, but you are oddly odd. Now, I may not be privy to everything, but if I am not mistaken, Ereinion’s old pet is jealous of Ereinion’s new pet.”

Though Erestor had not been sure what reaction his words would elicit, the flicker of both hurt and fear that crossed Glorfindel’s face was not among his list of possibilties. The golden head dropped, just a little. “Have you ever lost your whole world, Erestor? I hope you never do,” Glorfindel said quietly. Rising, he quickly grabbed a towel and his cleanest tunic, and walked out of the tent to bathe before it could become darker and therefore colder.

On the way to the stream Glorfindel tried to sort his jumbled thoughts – and his shame. For Erestor was right, and it ill-suited him. _Are you really so afraid of a little ferret?_ He asked himself. And he would not answer his own query, the entire time he scrubbed at his hair in the chilly stream, and cleansed the grime from his skin. Every effort was made not to think at all, because he feared the answer was both Yes and No and he did not want to be someone Ereinion would despise. _You can do better, Glorfindel. You have fought worse. You will fight worse again. Cheer up. You lost everything but you regained it too._

A splash brought him away from his thoughts. “You know, Gondoledhel, you are not the only one who lost everything.” Erestor kicked water at Glorfindel again before he waded in himself, causing him to splutter a little. “You have asked me questions for years, and I have avoided answering. Where I was born, who my parents were, and where I have lived. You have not been an exception; I deny everyone knowledge of my past. However, I consider you a friend, and I will not watch you wallow in pity, self-made or otherwise.” Erestor dipped under the water now that he had Glorfindel’s full attention, and surfaced to scrub his hair. “I was born in Doriath. My father’s name was Saeros. I have felt like a wanderer ever since – but I have not allowed that to darken my outlook. I feel I should not need to offer such advice to you but I shall: Cherish each day and do not let small inconveniences cloud your perception. Ereinion has a huge heart – there is enough space for you and for whatever the hell rank that ferret has by now. I swear to Eru, though, I refuse to salute that weasel if he ends up outclassing me.”

For a few moments, Glorfindel turned away. Then he spoke. “Forgive me, Erestor. I will keep your confidence. I said what I did to you because the truth hurt. I am trying. Just as I will try to take your advice. I am...this is not like me except apparently it is. I am ashamed of my recent behavior.” Glorfindel stared, unseeing. “If Sergeant Cashew caught a third rat he will be a Captain by now.”

The inky head shook in annoyance. “If he makes it to Major General, I swear I will join the navy,” vowed Erestor. “So, what is this pillow business that has you rearranging the tent every day?”

Now Glorfindel’s head drooped more. “I am going to confess to you what I have done, what I should have admitted to in the first place. It is Ereinion’s pillow, marvelously embroidered with his heraldry – so soft, and it carries his scent.”

“Ah, that must be one of the eiderdown ones he covets,” said Erestor. “Only the best for a King.”

“Eiderdown?” asked Glorfindel, trying out the word.

“Very soft, tiny feathers, more like a cloud.”

“Yes, a cloud,” agreed Glorfindel with the assessment. “We never had anything so heavenly in Gondolin.”

“Gondolin was also a closed society with limited resources, at a time before certain technologies made it possible to harvest...oh, but back to your tale,” said Erestor quickly. “Before I start in on the history of textiles in Middle-earth.” Erestor listened while scrubbing his own collection of dust and grime from his body.

“I was the only one he shared it with, until I walked in to find it under the ferret. Something inside of me twisted...I want to be able to explain to you but I cannot! It was childish. _I was childish_. I could hardly stand the sight and I have behaved like a fool trying to keep it away from the animal but every time I do, it is as if it flies back to Ereinion’s tent! Pathetic, no? I would deserve it if you told the entire camp. I am positive the King knows, for I am always gone each morning along with the pillow. I am a disgrace.” Despondently, Glorfindel wrung out his tunic, imagining the stares of derision once everyone heard. “Please allow me enough time to tell Ereinion myself, tonight, before the others know. It is the only thing I will ask of you ”

Erestor listened carefully to every word, though he did not make eye contact (mostly to avoid getting soap in his eyes). When Glorfindel finished, Erestor declared, “I bet I could steal it without him noticing, and you could remain, and it would at least throw him off your trail. If you should desire that.”

Glorfindel blinked. It was not the response he expected. “How would you steal the pillow?” Glorfindel had needed to distract the guard the first time, and had the advantage the second time of the guard being off-duty. Erestor getting into and out of the tent without being seen did not make sense.

“Only because I am feeling generous on disclosure of information – and because I cannot imagine why Ereinion would not have told you by now – will I share with you what makes me uniquely qualified to carry out this extremely covert mission.” Erestor quickly looked around, and then explained, “I am not here because I can shape stones or to be the llama whisperer. I am here because I am an assassin – Ereinion’s assassin, to be clear – and he has me staged among the rest of you should someone...get out of line. I can make anything look like an accident. I tell you this only because, quite frankly, I consider myself a good judge of character, and have determined that you pose zero risk with Ereinion. Also, if you did plan any harm to him, you have had more than ample chances to do something. Also, you are just...too nice to even think of such things,” Erestor concluded.

“There are times when I am not sure if I should be impressed or concerned by the things you say,” admitted Glorfindel. “I did not know.”

Erestor shrugged. “Do you want me to steal the pillow or not?”

“I will still offer my confession to Ereinion to clear the air,” said Glorfindel. “He deserves better than my foolishness, though I truly do love him. But,” he said shyly, “I am very curious to see if you can do this, and I want so much to know how the pillow keeps being found!”

“Done,” was all Erestor said. It was followed by, “We never had this conversation.” He finished washing, wished Glorfindel a good evening, and then was gone.

Glorfindel finished his bath, thinking about how nice it would be tonight to sleep until morning in Ereinion’s arms. He stopped in at the communal tent only long enough to hang his towel to dry along with the tunic he had washed. Erestor was nowhere to be seen, which meant the game was already afoot. Glorfindel even took a moment to dab a little of the fragranced water he had left along his neck and behind his ears. His King deserved only the best; hopefully his larger pet could unlearn jealousy.

“Good evening, Majesty,” Glorfindel greeted, his heart more settled now that his feet had been set on a straighter path. This time he felt assured there was no stray uncleanliness clinging to his damp hair; he would at least be pleasing in that sense of the word. “Was your day a good one?”

“Very good! Listen to this! I have held Lindir back, just so you could hear. I have already asked him to sing this to me thrice. It is lovely!”

With a terribly odd expression Lindir inclined his head to Glorfindel, then plucked a slow melody out on the harp that introduced his song. 

“He calls it Ferret-ku,” Ereinion whispered excitedly, drawing the blond to sit on his knee.

  
  


_White as driven snow_

_Champion of Amon Sûl_

_Rests on eiderdown_

_Fears no thieving rat_

_Skilled hunter of every foe_

_Praised where’er he’s at_

_Jewel in Kingly crown_

_Clever and nobody’s fool_

_His prestige shall grow._

Eyes bulging in disbelief, Glorfindel had no choice but to clap his praise to the minstrel with the same enthusiasm as the King.

“Captain Cashew adores it, don’t you, sweet pea?!” the King gushed. And indeed there he sat, chittering away, rolling back and forth on the feather pillow that Glorfindel at last understood he could forego. One of the King’s hands held his waist securely – he had what truly mattered, Ereinion’s love. At least, he hoped he still would have it after he admitted the depth of his idiocy. Already he felt regret that he had accepted Erestor’s offer, but it was too late to turn aside.

“So well done, Lindir!” the blond complimented sincerely. “I liked the rhyme scheme.”

“You may go, Lindir, with my thanks,” Ereinion smiled, leaning forward to stroke Captain Cashew’s glossy fur.

“Glorfindel. Majesty,” Lindir bowed deeply, carrying his harp.

Without being asked, Glorfindel fluffed the pillow for the ferret and turned his smiling face to the King.

“Come. I saved supper for you.” Ereinion kissed Glorfindel’s cheek, nose lingering to brush against the skin of his neck. “Very nice,” he complimented, and kissed Glorfindel’s throat in appreciation for the scent of lavender and mint.

Dinner was as elegant as it could be for a meal held in a tent with fur throws for a carpet and flaps held back with velvet ties for windows. Due to the late hour a candlelit and relaxed setting sufficed, and Glorfindel enjoyed every moment of affection shown to him. At last, when all of them – Glorfindel, Ereinion, and the ferret – bedded down for the night, Glorfindel was not even considering the loss of the pillow for he was bid to rest his head upon Ereinion’s breast, and he soon slumbered peacefully.

The racket that caused him to awaken, however, was the absolute opposite. There were unhappy noises from the ferret, hissing and screeching, and the sound of someone tripping over something, a struggle, a tearing sound, and a single curse – definitely from Erestor. Glorfindel could hear Ereinion beside him, no doubt lighting candles, and a guard with a torch entered the room from outside. Something tickled Glorfindel’s nose, and he saw now in the light that it was a feather. There were more feathers – some on the bed covers, some in his hair, and some still floating in the air. Most of them, however, were on Erestor. Captain Cashew (who was probably a Major by now) triumphantly held half of the fabric which once contained the thousands of tiny, fluffy feathers spread over the room.

Ereinion, holding a single rather ineffective candle compared to the torch, surveyed the area. He then waved off the guard and said, “You may go.” The guard left. Ereinion moved past Glorfindel to address the elf on the floor. “I believe it goes without saying that I desire an explanation.” 

Erestor lifted a mask from his face and pulled a feather out of his mouth. His appearance was far different than anything Glorfindel had seen in the past – he wore all black, from soft shoes to a tight long-sleeved high-collared shirt. A tight bun atop of his head bound his hair out of the way. “What would you say if I were to tell you I have been running drills to check your ability to tell whether someone had invaded your tent at night?”

“I would say you were lying to me,” Ereinion replied immediately.

Erestor spit another feather out of his mouth.

Glorfindel took his lover’s hand and knelt before him to admit guilt and to hopefully deflect blame from Erestor. “The fault is mine. I have been struggling with envy and unseemy behavior on account of Captain Cashew. I meant to confess to you just as I confessed to Erestor earlier this evening. I kept stealing your pillow only I was so curious, how it was being returned each day! I pressed Erestor into helping me; he was going to hide it one last time so I might discover that means before I told you the truth. I am flawed and foolish, Majesty. I feared losing your affection and that was so wrong after you have shown me such favor. I expect to collect every feather and repair your pillow plus whatever else you determine. I am so sorry – please forgive me.” Releasing the King’s fingers, a dread of loss settled over Glorfindel – but finally his conscience was clear.

“Oh, Glorfindel – foolish, yes, but even the most noble can be foolish at times.” Ereinion looked at Erestor. “We will talk later. For now, please deposit whatever feathers are on your person in what remains of Colonel Cashew’s pillowcase before you go. He has just earned a double promotion.”

This was easier said than done. For many minutes, Ereinion and Glorfindel watched Erestor struggle to keep the feathers confined in the little sack while he added more, for they continued to attempt escape. Colonel Cashew supervised the ordeal, scolding Erestor the entire time and all the way out as Erestor extracted himself from the tent.

“Please do not censure him,” Glorfindel begged, still on his knees. “This was wholly my fault and I really do not want him to kill me.” Lazily, a feather floated down from the tent ceiling to settle on the end of his nose. Sighing, Glorfindel picked up the forlorn pillowcase Erestor left behind and poked one more bit of downy fuzz past the closure. “If I am in a position to ask anything at all, that is. I am an idiot, Ereinion. I cannot even blame this on how much I love you. Which I do. Love you. I am afraid to lose you and I still am– but I now know I must stop thinking like that and cherish each day. With you. And Colonel Cashew. If, that is, you can both forgive me?”

Startled, Glorfindel managed not to cry out when a little body hurtled up in seeming defiance of gravity to find a purchase on his shoulders. Instinctively, he made a shelf of his arms when the ferret appeared determined to traverse his chest. Captain Cashew balanced on his hind legs, and planted a little fuzzy kiss on Glorfindel’s chin. With wide eyes, Glorfindel’s eyes misted over a little as he petted the creature’s head. “Thank you,” he said humbly, meaning every word. 

Ereinion watched this with a smile, and took Glorfindel’s hand. “Get up. There are yet hours for rest, and I mean to have it. With both of you. In the bed, where it is warm. You are forgiven, Glorfindel, though I may require a penance. I have not yet decided.”

“Anything, Majesty,” Glorfindel could not mind what might be asked of him; a broad smile showed his brilliant white teeth. He hurried to escort Colonel Cashew, and placed himself just as Ereinion asked; the King’s other pet snuggled under Glorfindel’s throat. The blond knew that drifts of down awaited him when they rose for the day but did not care. To know he was restored to favor, he would happily have Toffee spit upon him all the day long. But...Erestor. How could he possibly make this up to Erestor? Sleepily he tried to puzzle something out, but with a little grunt of contentment held in Ereinion’s embrace,he consigned himself to Irmo’s pull.

**

The following morning Glorfindel awakened slowly. He felt sure that he kept having feathers brush his skin, tickle his nose and lips, but he usually slumbered deeply and it was terribly easy to drift away again and again, until finally suspicion got the better of him and his blue eyes fluttered open. No part of him wished to move, not when he was snuggled tightly against his lover. “Not fair,” he complained with a smile. “This is so nice. I slept without dreams,” he admitted.

Ereinion smiled and turned his head to collect a kiss. “You did not dream of me?” he pouted a little.

“Maybe Irmo will give me that tonight,” Glorfindel ventured. “Or even if I fall back to sleep right now?” he asked hopefully.

“Mmmm I do not see how I can possibly let you sleep longer when that will deny me the sight of your blue eyes,” the King purred, bestowing yet another kiss. “Someone has a very large amount of feathers to pick up!” Three kisses punctated random words in his declaration.

“Ah, the price of my faltering heart,” Glorfindel sighed, only half able to believe his own nonsense. His dramatics failed entirely when he began laughing helplessly. “I really am sorry. But my idiocy is funny…”

“I _know_ it is,” Ereinion deadpanned. “Why do you think it is nearly impossible to properly discipline you, Glorfindel? And yet I must make some kind of point, so don your clothing and pick up those feathers. Tonight I expect an extra-good massage and one for Colonel Cashew.” For emphasis, the King gently smacked his backside.

Glorfindel blinked, having somehow missed the promotion. “How many rats did he catch? I thought he was still a Lieutenant. Major. Uhm...never mind, I really cannot recall.”

The King tilted his head, one eyebrow raised. “Neither can I, but his rank might increase more if I do not see feathers going into a sack quite soon.” 

“Sir! Yes sir!” Glorfindel answered smartly, still trying not to laugh. He accepted a kiss to his cheek from an indulgent monarch, rose and dressed before the warmth dissipated. About ten minutes into failed efforts he learned that if he pushed his feather-stuffed fist into the sack and shook his hand, flicking his fingers every which way, he could dislodge and wipe them with the hand that closed the neck of the sack. Inefficient, maybe, but it was the best means he could find for making steady progress. On his knees, he diligently searched for stray feathers, patient and uncomplaining at their seeming dispersal to most every surface. Only once did he pause; to tame his golden hair into a knot behind his head.

While Glorfindel worked, the King saw to his daily activities. Log books with the completed tasks needed to be read and correspondence answered. As he moved around the tent, he took liberties to draw his hand over Glorfindel’s hair or rub his shoulder as he strolled by. The ferret stood at attention the entire time, watching over the ordeal.

Once more the flap was lifted and someone cleared their throat. “Ah, Erestor,” said Ereinion. “I see it must be time for lunch – Glorfindel, look. Erestor has been so kind to bring food to us.”

Sure enough, Erestor stood at the entrance of the tent with a cart full of covered trays. “I was hoping this might serve as an apology, your majesty,” said Erestor dutifully.

“Sit, Erestor,” Ereinion waved him to a chair. “You as well, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel tied the neck of the pillowcase shut with an overhand knot and carefully set it aside before doing as asked.

The King paced, drawn up to his full height. “The apology is duly noted. What I want to know most of all is how my assassin managed to be discovered at all, much less strewn across the floor of my tent,” the King said with a meaningfully raised eyebrow. “Is my confidence in you still appropriately placed?”

Horrified, Glorfindel shot Erestor the most apologetic look he could summon and mouthed ‘ _I am sorry_ ’ from his position outside of Ereinion’s peripheral vision.

Erestor swallowed audibly, and fretted his hands in his lap. “Sir – I mean, Sire – I am sorry for my failure. I assure you, there is no excuse for my poor management of the situation, and I will endeavor never to err so terribly again.”

“I am not sure I can risk a next time,” Ereinion frowned solemnly. “Of course, neither can I release you from my service with what knowledge you have. This is a very grave decision.” Ereinion paused beside the corner of the tent where Aeglos was kept and ran his finger down the length of the sharp blade. “Glorfindel – what might the punishment have been in Gondolin for such a lack of judgement?”

Glorfindel went very still at the question. “It would depend upon the King’s judgement of the offender’s person, Your Majesty. We witnessed loss of rank and the associated public humiliation, a heavy monetary fine, and very rarely, imprisonment or physical chastisement.” Glorfindel palpably forced himself to speak the last item, for the mere thought of this befalling Erestor was not something he could stomach. He prepared himself for whatever judgement might be spoken, just as he had to long ago in Gondolin.

“I see.” Ereinion walked around until he was standing behind Erestor’s chair. He placed his hands on Erestor’s shoulders and kept his gaze upon Glorfindel. “In my place, Glorfindel, what penance would you place on my assassin?” While Ereinion spoke, Erestor stared down at his hands.

The crooked smile did not take too long to appear on the blond’s lips, for this query played into what Glorfindel had intended to do should Ereinion have chosen one of the more draconian sentences mentioned. “I would require Erestor to supervise me while I spend an entire day under his command, doing all the things he prefers not to and completing the work on my own that he and I would usually manage together. He will not like this at all, for Erestor takes great pride in his capability in your service. This requirement would be as a thorn in his side and a reminder of his failure. Additionally, justice will be served on me, for I am responsible for this entire state of affairs in the first place.”

“That is very creative, but I am not sure it is enough,” said Ereinion. He then looked down at Erestor and said, “Perhaps we should eat first. What delicacy has been prepared for us?”

Erestor glanced up at the King and then looked at the large silver tray and the cover upon it. Unlike other covered dishes, no steam rose from it. Nearby, the ferret darted back and forth, pausing for a few seconds to floof his tail before he started his pacing again. Erestor placed his hand over the handle of the lid, looked across the table at Glorfindel, and lifted the domed cover.

There, on the silver tray, was the pillow – intact, fluffed up, and ready for Colonel Cashew to leap onto and blissfully occupy. Erestor licked his lips and said, “I believe your sentence has already been carried out, Glorfindel.”

“But...I...the feathers...I do not understand,” Glorfindel said softly. “I am beginning to believe that the space between my ears is filled with feathers. Erestor?” Charmingly, the blond knot flopped over to one side, loosening in a mass of tangles.

Ereinion moved away from Erestor and came around behind Glorfindel to tenderly detangle the blond waves. “The fact is, I truly have the best assassin in all of Middle-earth. Care to explain, or is it a trade secret?”

“I will tell you what I did, just not how I accomplished it,” said Erestor. “First, the feathers you picked up were from a decoy pillow. You admitted to me that you do not know what eiderdown looked like. I came up with the idea and told His Majesty before you made it up here for the night. Then I stole the pillow, tucked it away safely, and replaced it with a fake. The hardest part was getting what’s-his-rank Cashew to fight me, because he was awfully tired. I actually ended up tearing the pillow because he just wanted me to leave him alone.”

A gentle smile graced Glorfindel’s face. “Then my confession came too late,” he perceived, raising his eyes to the King. “You already knew.”

Ereinion leaned down and kissed the top of Glorfindel’s head. “I wanted to hear it from you. Your truthfulness meant everything to me.” He looked at Erestor. “Would you care to join us for lunch?”

“Only if lunch does not actually include what is on the tray.” Erestor stood up and carried the pillow with slumbering ferret from the cart to a shelf.

After lunch, Erestor returned to his work, leaving Ereinion and Glorfindel some time alone. “I hope you have learned your lesson,” Ereinion said gently as they moved from the more common area of the tent to the spot where they slept.

“Thoroughly, Majesty.” A chastised Glorfindel clutched the sack of feathers he had gathered earlier. “What is to be done with this? Did this actually come from a pillow?”

“I am woefully uninformed as to the origins of the filling or the fake pillow,” admitted Ereinion. He walked up to Glorfindel and reached out a hand to finger the loose fabric. “Seems a shame to have wasted a good pillow.” And then Ereinion grabbed the knotted end of the pillow and pulled it from Glorfindel’s grasp. He swung it around and whapped Glorfindel gently on the backside with it. There was an impish smirk on the King’s face.

At first, Glorfindel was surprised. Then, upon seeing Ereinion’s reaction, Glorfindel wrestled the pillow away and used it to retaliate. He only managed to hit Ereinion’s shoulder before the two of them were attempting to wrestle it away, each from the other. Ereinion managed to grab it a second time, and got two smacks in as Glorfindel laughed and attempted to evade. 

When back in Glorfindel’s hands, he victoriously landed a blow across Ereinion’s thigh. He missed two more strikes as they dodged around the furniture in the tent, laughing as they went. Only once did the ferret glance up and then go back to sleep. 

Ereinion lunged and grabbed the end of the pillow. Glorfindel had a better hold than the last time, and kept possession of it. They tugged it back and forth until the inevitable happened – the fabric tore and the feathers burst into the air like confetti. Both laughed uproariously at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Colonel Cashew suffered a vacillating feather to land upon his nose, whereby he curled up into a far better sphere, fully burying his head up to the ears to gain immunity from this elven nonsense.

Glorfindel stared at Ereinion Gil-galad, his King. Though his own face held renown for its sheer beauty, he felt inadequate. “I do not know how I have been granted your love. I only need to study your face and inside a white light kindles in my heart. Even were I not so privileged to have my love returned, I believe my feelings would remain the same just on account of serving you. I am worse than a love-lorn youth,” he admitted. “But it is true.”

“I know it is,” Ereinion said, closing the small distance between them. “Would that we were both truly free, to cavort and carry on as lovers do. And yet still we have our moments. Like this one.”

“And still we are building a great watch-tower for the Palantír, one that I pray serves long in the defense of these lands against our enemies.”

“No enemy lasts forever,” Ereinion reassured.

“Love lasts forever,” Glorfindel murmured with complete conviction, gazing deep into the King’s eyes.

“It does indeed.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
